


Sentire

by mother_hearted



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Digital Devil Saga
Genre: Gen, Status Effects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-11
Updated: 2012-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-01 18:48:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/360063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_hearted/pseuds/mother_hearted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have changed, he has evidence of this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentire

Touch, one of the senses through which the individual perceives the world around them - a series of actions that transmits signals to the brain to identify objects and other individuals. Texture, shape, temperature; the ledge is jagged, the panel rectangular, the flame hot. It is an understandable concept, simple in testing. However, whatever has spread through the junkyard has raised questions in him, their sources unknown and their claims unable to be executed.

How would one give a touch so sweet? It is incomprehensible, that taste which can only be identified by one of the receptors of the tongue can also be known through the touch of hand. A sour glance, words spoken bitterly, how is it these actions can transpire and be identified? The contradictions amass into a swarm that follows him for days, only growing worse when he sees the others, these contradictions have taken them over, imbued them with their meanings, and Gale is left behind.

They have changed, he has evidence of this. There are outbursts within their meetings, issues that hold no immediacy appearing out of nowhere. Their efficiency rate grows exponentially, soaring high until they crash, teeth bared and claws itching before they climb back up, only to start the pattern again, kicking sand in the face of the previous constant that slowly grew over time. Individually, outside of physical characteristics - he cannot say. They are different and yet, what is there to previously compare to? The junkyard and the tribe, that is all they have ever been and they are still fighting, dominating, they are the Embyron, and Gale is back at square one.

He does not know what is taking them over, what they are feeling, and what, what does it mean to _feel?_

He feels the spray of blood on his cheek when he slices the artery, a clean one hit kill. Intestines fall wet from his hands to the floor when he rips into his kill, shoving flesh aside to get at the meat. His belly is full when his hunt is over, the small band of rebels taken care of - their bones, cracked and stained with juices, scattered throughout the newly acquired territory.

Argilla is in the area up ahead, her back to him when he approaches, footsteps methodical. When he is close enough he sees she is standing over a half eaten corpse, her voice too low to make out her words but then she turns, throwing a torn off limb with a snarl to her right and it hits the wall with a sickly plop. Blood stains her mouth, though her pink lips remain immaculate underneath. Her eyes open slightly as she registers his presence.

"Gale," she wipes her wrist over her mouth, a dark patch collecting on her sleeve.

"Argilla, you are not hungry?"

He cocks his head to the bludgeoned body lying before them. She sighs at him, shaking her head back and forth before crossing her arms over her chest.

"I've had enough."

"It is crucial to our survival."

"It wasn't before, eating _people_ , Gale. Doesn't that bother you?"

"If our success is dependent on the rules of the junkyard, as it was before, then we must devour our enemies."

She frowns, eyebrows knitting together.

"You never answer my questions, not the way I mean."

Strangely, despite only being mere feet away, Gale feels a chasm of distance open up between them. He doesn't understand.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not talking about strategy or success. I'm not asking about anyone but _you_ , you don't think there's anything wrong, it doesn't feel disgusting, changing back and seeing _that_ on the ground? With that taste in your mouth?"

She jerks her head to the body but her gaze stays on him, almost imploring - _imploring?_ There is no answer ready on his lips, his eyes flicker back from the dead body to his fellow tribe member and instead, in this quiet moment he can only think to ask one thing.

"How do you feel?"

Taken aback, her arms drop from their hold.

"Now?"

"No." He shakes his head, searching for the right way to express himself and he comes up with nothing. There's an discernible feeling, similar to that of an itch forming under his skin, as if something is waiting, waiting for him. In a tone not quite his own, he asks again.

 _"How._ "

Argilla walks towards him, her features rearranging themselves, looser, more relaxed. "You really mean that." She is closer, a hand covering the top of his shoulder and yet, there is still a distance between them he cannot see. She closes her eyes, deep in thought before her lips twitch up and when her eyelids open there is a spark too quick to identify in her eyes. "I want to help you."

The answer for the first time in too long is simple.

"Yes."

She steps away from him, inhaling deeply before the air crackles around her, veins of her body lighting up brightly and the change to Priviti begins. The transformation is not new to him and though he is aware of the power she holds now -- she can restrain him with reflexes even faster than his own, she can tear his skin like paper, she can devour him -- he is not concerned. It is Argilla.

Her transition into her casting stage is lightning quick and with a cry he feels hot energy wash over him. His eyes open wide, the heat is suffocating, warmth burrowing into every crease and corner of his body. He sways, body lighter, lighter than a cloud - has he even seen a cloud? White, puffy and pure? Thoughts drift away from him, rapid and melting and then Argilla says his name, _Gale?_

He feels even warmer, it is more than just his name, her face is inhuman, expression unable to read but he does not need to when he hears her voice, concern ringing deep in his ears. Concern. She is thinking of him, for him, she is worried. His brain does not process these concepts, the capability, only their existence and he answers back in kind, _Argilla._ She approaches him and the chasm that existed between them has been swallowed whole, she touches him, strong fingers gripping his arms and he sees the sharp glint of her sets of teeth, so close to his own chest, his own heart that beats slow and easy. There is no fear, no worry, no anxiety, there is only Argilla, his comrade and something tender swells inside of him.

Comrade, support, loyalty, protection, he feels them in her arms, her presence and he does not know where they come from, only that they are here now, inside of him. Do they hide in the pockets of his organs? The nutrients of his bloodstream? Nestled in the marrow of his bones? He does not know the answer and he never will but it does not matter, because he can feel their existence and he closes his eyes, arms going around her rough skin.

He is washed away in a dream he cannot describe, waves of warmth carrying him away and Gale thinks he understands the true meaning of _tribe._


End file.
